


Lollipops

by Jeanisnotawinchester (theanonymousj), theanonymousj



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Boxing & Fisticuffs, F/M, High School, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Roman Catholicism, Smoking, War, World War II, and yes, bisexuality strikes again, cannot believe i forgot about homophobia, i have a loose plan, i just have a lot of feelings, i love this ship tho, i'm sorry if it's offensive, it's like my third favourite ship, it's the main reason i refuse to go to church though, it's very mild, kind of, some church bashing, yes i'm making this up as i go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theanonymousj/pseuds/Jeanisnotawinchester, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theanonymousj/pseuds/theanonymousj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'High school Au where bad boy Bucky begrudgingly gives up smoking so he can hang out with adorable asthmatic Steve and takes up eating lollipops instead, which really only makes Steve's inability to catch his breath even worse.' - murphels (tumblr).</p><p>I saw this and I was kinda like 'fuck yeah.' That's where it starts anyway, it kind of drifts a bit. Btw, I'm super British so basically everyone is British. We are in Manchester and everyone is British and you cannot stop me because until now I had no idea how much fun it is writing Americans as Brits.</p><p>Update at chapter 10: this has wandered so far from the prompt lol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_God, he’s cute._ If he’d thought it once in the past half an hour, then he’d thought it a thousand times over. He just looked so fucking cute, with his badly fitted blazer and shiny, new shoes. It was adorable, it was attractive, and it was 30 feet away from him. How was no one else seeing this; the kid was just so freaking cute.

‘Anyone home?’

A voice. There was definitely a voice but it was so, so very far away. Further than that 30 feet between him and- ‘James Buchanan Barnes, are you in there?’

 _Dammit Stark. Damn you and your stupid mouth that never shuts up. At all. Ever._ He took it back immediately, of course. He’d never hate Tony: they’d been inseparable since nursery. But dear God was he annoying, and now the game was up. He stole one last look at the adorable fuck of a kid across the dining hall and then lightly shoved a fist into his friend’s shoulder, ‘piss off you twat.’

Only Bucky got away with that language around Tony. Anyone else and they’d be dead on his doormat before you could say ‘fight.’ But Bucky was his brother, so that kind of talk was acceptable. The entourage at the table laughed and got back into their mindless chatter, but before Bucky could turn back to his drooling his punch was returned, ‘He’s pretty cute.’

Bucky face flushed bright red and his stare dropped to the floor between his feet. _Pretty cute? The kid’s perfect._ He could feel Tony raising an eyebrow in response; ‘I’m going to take that as a Y E S. Have you spoken to him you colossal pansy?’ Bucky felt his head shake automatically as he met his wingman’s gaze.

Tony was weird in ways no one could explain, but Bucky found his acceptance for homosexuality incredibly refreshing. Obviously, he’d never told anyone else. He’d never told Tony, but Tony is the most observant person on the planet, so he just straight up guessed and didn’t seem to care much anyway.

He sat back, smirking at his friend, ‘well, you know what we’re gonna do next? We’re going to talk to him. You’re going to talk to him, and I’m going to sit there looking pretty because I’m just so gorgeous.’

Bucky couldn’t do that. Tony did it all the time with the girls, but Bucky didn’t do that. He was Bucky, the school’s best boxer. He had a motorbike. He had a scar. He had a reputation, and talking to the cute kid would wreck all that. ‘I’m not going to talk to him.’ ‘Yeah you are; he’s like you.’ That struck Bucky in the chest. Despite Tony’s tendency to be perpetually correct, he HAD to be wrong on this one. Bucky had seen him say grace before his lunch. No homosexual is _that_ dedicated to a church that hates his type.

‘Let’s get some air.’ Tony extracted himself from the lunch table and ambled through the hall to the fire escape, ‘Smoke and air are _very_ different compounds.’ Tony, for all his wealth and stardom, had never smoked. His father, Howard, lectured them regularly on why doctors were wrong and how the smoke was bad for you and would eventually kill you or something, but Bucky didn’t care. That he craved that smoke and it calmed him down. He drove a _motorcycle_. He’d probably die well before his time on that thing.

X

 _Well I’ll be fucking damned Stark, you’ve out done yourself._   Tony valued his education like no rich boy you’ve seen before, so it was no surprise when he ditched his friend and arrived on time for class. He also had the whole school under his celebrity thumb, and so had control of the entire student body – but Bucky would never have thought he’d go this far. The entire English room was rearranged, so that the only empty seat was right in the back corner: and who was in that corner? The cute kid. With a disapproving glare of Mrs. Bryce, and a suggestive wink from Tony, he slid into the remaining chair.

‘Last term we agreed to start Shakespeare’s most famous tragedy, Romeo and Juliet,’ he had not missed that monotone sound that projected from his teacher’s mouth, ‘before we begin reading it, what can you tell me about this play?’ A class discussion: that was his cue to try talking to the new kid. When he spun in his chair, he found the guy to be wheezing quietly with one hand on his chest.

‘You okay?’ He got a nod.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Kind of a half nod.

‘What’s with the wheezing?’ Should he be bothering the kid? Was he bad with large groups of people? ‘Smoking….triggers my…..asthma’

_Oh so smooth, Bucky Barnes. Kill the kid before you even introduce yourself._

‘Sorry, I’ll crack the window open for you. Do you want a drink or something?” He shook his head.

Bucky waited a few minutes for his breathing to clear up a bit. He had to be a fake blonde. No one had that kind of hair naturally. No one had eyes that blue either, it was ridiculous.

‘I’m Bucky.’

The kid gave a cough, ‘Steve.’

Steve. He could roll with Steve. Especially with that accent.

He turned in the tight gap to face the kid, ‘you’re a yank.’

‘Brooklyn, New York.’

Bucky nodded mindlessly, drinking in the words. It took him four full minutes to realise he’d barely even heard of Brooklyn, ‘what’s Brooklyn like?’

‘Everyone’s mean and it lacks in enthusiasm.’ He could taste the hate in his voice, clearly not a subject they’d be discussing much.

‘So a perfect holiday spot. Good.’

Judging by the blank look on the blonde’s face, he’d misunderstood that last one. Bucky liked that; Steve doesn’t get sarcasm, and his confused face is incredibly cute. ‘Sarcasm, mate.’

‘Oh.’

It felt like there was a conversation going now, so he decided to press a little further, ‘Why Manchester then? You’ve got all of America, and you’re in Manchester. All it does here is rain.’ The way Steve looked down at the table made Bucky instantly regret the question, ‘You don’t have to answer that.’

They spent the rest of the lesson in silence.

X

Right. Left. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Right again.

_Why’d you say that Bucky? Why’d you go and hit the sensitive spot?_

 Left. Left.Left. Right. Right. Feint left, go right. Right. Double right.

_And the sarcasm thing. Dammit, don’t laugh at other people._

 Before he landed another punch, Tony slipped in front of him, ‘Don’t wear yourself out, I’ve got a decent amount of money on you.’

‘I’m not going to win.  Banner’s really bulked up over Easter.’ He couldn’t possibly argue with that. Banner’s muscle mass had tripled in two weeks. It was entirely ridiculous and he looked like some kind of circus freak.

‘You’ll win, you’ve never lost to Banner. But, that’s not important right now. What happened with your fellow nancy boy to put you in such a desolate mood?’ That face. That stupidly handsome, pleading face. He could punch it so hard he wouldn’t see it for another week while it lay disconcerted in hospital.

‘I asked a touchy question about the move from Brooklyn to Manchester.’

‘His dad got stabbed in an alley, his mum’s an alcoholic. He’s staying with family.’

Bucky looked up, flushed with anger and regret, ‘why didn’t you just tell me?’

Tony (wisely) took a step back and three to the left, then raised his arms as a peace offering, ‘you didn’t ask. But, let’s focus on the positives here: what else did you get out of him?’

Tony didn’t have a thirst for gossip like the majority of air heads at their school. It was a thirst for knowledge. The more he knew about an individual, the easier they were to manipulate and read. His usual excuse was inexhaustible curiosity, but Bucky knew he was just another control freak.

‘His name is Steve, he doesn’t get sarcasm, and he’s incredibly asthmatic.’

‘Asthma?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How bad exactly?’

‘He couldn’t breathe a whole three minutes after I stopped smoking.’

He felt terrible about that. If he wanted to hurt someone, he did it on purpose and to their face. He did it with fair warning too. Causing pain was nothing to take pride in, and preventing a man from breathing is not something he wants to repeat, so smoking would have to wait until after English. However hard it was, for some weird reason he had to talk to this kid. He had to do it.

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed chapter 1. If you didn't, that's more your problem than mine. If you have any suggestions or constructive criticism, tell me. I'm uploading these at random, but with no more than a week between chapters if I can help it (you'll be given notice). We're somewhere in the 1930s currently, I'm still deciding where...


	2. Chapter 2

_No. With a capital N. And a capital O. Sevaral capital Os. And an exclamation mark for emphasis. Underline it for good measure._

He inhaled the thick smoke again and watched it swirl idly above his head. He liked watching it, the way it curled aimlessly, warping itself into nothing; it was calming. The whole process of inhaling and allowing the smoke to fill your lungs – it was amazing. He didn’t appreciate it nearly enough.

Of course, the first time hadn’t been like that. He’d been hanging with the ‘tough kids.’ He’d just wanted to fit in, and he’d ended up choking up his lungs- but they’d respected him. After that night he wasn’t just Tony Stark’s mate, he was a somebody. He was accepted. And after that, he built up that ‘tough kid’ reputation. He kept up the smoking, as well as trying to get in on the drinking scene. But it was boxing that took him that extra mile. It was that one rugby match that ended in a broken nose and three cracked ribs that made him the hero he was today.

But now, now he craved that smoke. Boxing and appalling grades were what kept up the bad boy appearance, not the smoking. Smoking was just a part of him now, like some sort of mannerism, and he couldn’t help it. It was some kid he’d only just met or his post-lunch cigarette, and no one got between him and his cigarettes.

All that said, Steve was adorable. Really, really adorable.

No, he couldn’t smoke after lunch because the kid needed to breathe. They were stuck together for at least the next term now and if he suffocated Steve that wouldn’t really be fair. He would skip that cigarette because a man had a right to air, and not at all because the man in question was cute as fuck.

X

‘James Barnes; what time would you call this?’

_Holy crap. She is not happy._

‘Half past two Mrs. Bryce.’

‘So, assuming you’re capable of basic maths, how many minutes of my lesson have you missed?’

‘Twenty-five minutes.’

_Was that even right? When did afternoon lessons even start?_

‘And THAT is how long you will sit in this classroom after school Mr. Barnes. Now please find your seat and DO NOT interfere with my lesson again.’

He nodded curtly and legged it to the back where he slipped into the seat next to Steve. He caught a quizzical look off Tony before the lesson resumed. He spent the second half of the lesson working; focused entirely on the characters presented in the first scene. It felt good. He never worked in any class aside from sport, and even then his enthusiasm often lacked, so he felt like he’d truly achieved something. He left the lesson without so much as making eye contact with Steve Rogers and didn’t see him again until first period next morning.

It was very much the same drill: he was a whole twenty minutes late, received a further detention from the gargoyle located behind the desk, and then actually worked. There was no English on Thursday, but Friday third period was the same routine. Mrs. Bryce was furious and he received a week’s worth of after-school detentions to make up for lost lesson time. Not once did he attempt to meet the blonde kid’s eyes, he just kept his head down and focused on the task in hand.

And this continued a second week. And then a third. After school detention for an hour every day. Not a word to Steve, barely an explanation to Tony. Mrs. Bryce hit the roof every time he arrived at the lesson, and screamed the school down every evening; the head teacher tried to talk to him and sent letters home. Nothing worked, no matter what anyone said he always arrived twenty minutes late to English. He kept telling them how he didn’t hate English, how he wasn’t skiving, how he wasn’t seeking attention, and then every meeting would repeat itself over and over.

Until that third Friday. Bucky dragged himself from the English office and toward the sports hall to polish the trophies for maybe the millionth time that term. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look sad. He was actually kind of smiling, and no matter what insults Mrs. Bryce threw at him as his feet shuffled down the corridor, that half smile was kind of just welded on there. It was like he couldn’t hear a word she’d said.

He made himself comfortable on the floor, blazer folded under him to serve as a cushion, back to the wall so he wouldn’t be tempted to slouch. Three trophies in, rubbing relentlessly with the old cloth, his head jerked up to watch the door.

The hall was silent and the door was open, but no one came in. Bucky waited, trophy still in hand, cloth frozen stiff. The freeze frame felt like it lasted an hour, just waiting and tension. And then in walked Steve Rogers.

‘Hi,’ he greeted in that enviable accent.

‘Hi,’ Bucky’s reply wass rather more brief, as he immediately returned to his polishing.

Steve kind of shuffled awkwardly, flinching slightly as the door slammed behind him. He watches Bucky polish for a few minutes. While the tension didn't return, the atmosphere was strange.

‘You can sit down if you want.’

Bucky was quite intimidating on the outside. He walked around with a posse and had biceps that stretch his jacket sleeves. But his voice wasn't half as deep as you would expect and often came out in a bright, cheerful tone. It was the sort of voice that shook your hand when you spoke for the first time; welcoming, kind, polite. And his eyes – greyish blue and full of words he’d never say. He was no good at lying because his eyes always betrayed him: they'd always bleed out the emotions inside of him.

And that’s why Steve was there, sitting cross legged in front of this Bucky Barnes: he looked into his eyes. Since the first day of term, Bucky had made no attempt to speak to him, or to even make eye contact with him. That Monday he looked into Bucky’s eyes, unable to remember their color, and found the color of regret.

On the Tuesday he opened the window in advance, not wanting to repeat yesterday’s suffocation episode, but Bucky didn’t turn up. Sure, Bucky was some ‘tough guy.’ He was ‘too cool for school,’ but ten minutes in and he hadn’t showed up. Another five minutes and still no Bucky: even Tony Stark was starting to look a little distressed. Twenty minutes. Twenty one, twenty two, twenty three; still no Bucky.

Twenty seven minutes and thirty two seconds and Bucky bounded through the door. The lesson was put on hold for his due scorning, and with a cheeky wink to his best mate he seats himself right next to Steve. He didn't say ‘Hi.’ He didn’t look at him. In fact, he got his books out and started working, which is bordering on disconcerting for Steve. He’d been warned by the prefects to steer clear of Bucky; how he was a bad influence and had never worked in his life. Yet there he was, genuinely focused on some sappy Shakespeare play.

But what was more, and initially Steve didn’t realise, was the lack of smoke. Sure, he smelled like a smoker, but any fresh smoke had just gone. Steve was relieved of course; he could breathe normally, who wouldn’t be relieved. He would have spoken to Bucky about this, maybe apologised for his cold behaviour the previous day, but there wasn’t really an ideal moment. As the lesson ended, the Yank tried to meet his gaze, but Bucky was already gone. The unreadable expression on his face said nothing at all, but his eyes were almost happy, no proud. His eyes were proud.

And his eyes were proud every time he turned up to English. They were gleeful as he was assigned a new detention. And this joy didn’t waver outside the head’s office, it didn’t change reading the letters, and it didn’t even fade as Mrs. Bryce tore him to pieces as he marched off into his fourteenth after-school detention that term. He was unbreakable and Steve for the life of him couldn’t crack it, but he couldn’t sit through another mute English lesson with inexplicably happy Bucky.

But could he for the life of him find the words to ask why in that gym hall? No. Not at all.

‘I’m sorry about Monday.’

Bucky waved the cloth in his general direction, ‘forget it, there was nothing to forgive.’

There really wasn’t in Bucky’s mind. He’d asked a personal question and he was under no obligation to answer it, especially if it opened up a fresh wound. He wasn’t in the habit of hurting the innocent or vulnerable.

Silence passed between them, interrupted only by Bucky’s cloth rubbing down a fourth trophy.

‘I won’t stand for this silence between us.’

‘You’re welcome to talk to me.’

_Do not look up. Do not look up._

‘If you’re still interested, my dad-‘

‘Was stabbed and your mum drinks.’

Steve blinked in surprise, ‘I haven’t told anyone.’

‘Tony’s dad knows everything about everyone.’

‘Oh.’

_Smooth Bucky. Real smooth. Smooth like cornflakes without milk._

Bucky kept vigorously polishing the trophies and Steve sat and watched, neither able to find any words.

_Say something goddammit. He wants to talk, right?_

‘Did you leave any friends behind in, uh, Brooklyn?’

‘No.’

‘Have you made any friends here?’

‘Not really. Phil Coulson was real nice to me, but I’d guess that’s just what prefects do, right?’

‘Yeah, it is.’

Bucky found the courage in him to stop polishing the trophies and held out is hand to Steve, ‘Well consider me your first real friend.’ For the first time in three weeks their eyes met and a smile etched its way onto either boy’s face.

Steve shook his hand gratefully, glad the void between them was closing. Steve helped himself to a cloth and began polishing the trophies like Bucky was. The Brit raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on the decision.

X

‘Hey Bucky, can I ask you a question as a moderately concerned friend?’

Bucky smiled across at the Yank, ‘fire away.’

‘Why are you always so late to English?’

That eyebrow rose again and Bucky felt a chuckle work its way into him. It was like some fast spreading infection, seeping into every crevice of his body until is laughter was loud and clear, and his eyes twinkled as if they were filled with stars. ‘You mean you didn’t notice?’

‘Didn’t notice what?’

‘It’s to make sure I don’t bring in any smoke and choke you to death, mate.’

 Bucky’s laughter stopped as something between confusion and gratitude rippled across Steve’s face, ‘what, do you enjoy asthma attacks?’

Steve quickly shook his head, ‘I… People just aren’t usually that thoughtful.’

The Brit smiled back at him, ‘well you’re worth it.’

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, chapters will be added at random. I'm going away in a week or so, so I'll try and give you as much material as I'm able (without rushing) before then. I'm actually amazed anyone liked this so my undying love to all of you for enjoying this piece of work. As always, comments and constructive criticism welcome, have a nice day!


	3. Chapter 3

Steve had had to leave earlier, so Bucky was left to walk alone. Seeing as Steve shouldn’t have actually been in detention, he wasn’t too torn up about it, but he missed the company. That was a new kind of feeling to him and it made his chest ache a little bit. He wanted Steve’s lift to be late so they could walk together, or at the very least Tony wandering around doing nothing so they could just chat.

He instinctively lit up a new cigarette and allowed the smoke to fill the pit in his chest. The feeling spread through his limbs to his fingertips and toes, warming him up from the inside out. It pulled him together again, stitching up the torn seems and boarding up the cracks, and then all at once he let it go. He aimed to walk straight home but his feet arrived at the door to the boxing ring and he decided he wasn’t ready for his parents- it wasn’t like they were waiting for him to come home or anything.

X

‘Hey.’

_Eighteen minutes late; not bad._

‘Hey.’

A silent moment passed between them as Bucky fished out his copy of the tragedy and his books and scanned the board for further instruction. There was a distinct lack of them. Unable to discern from the surrounding conversation any idea of what he should do, he turned to the adorable Yank on his left.

‘Steve, do you know what we’re supposed to be doing?’

‘We’re discussing our final impressions of the play. In partners. With the person sat next to us.’

Good. Well, the pointed look he received for leaving Steve to have a one way discussion for half a lesson was a little hurtful and mildly unwarranted, but he got a whole lesson to admire that stupidly cute face.

‘Well, what did you think?’

‘I think that kids shouldn’t be given guns; the amount collateral damage of two pointless suicides was stupidly high. I didn’t much like it anyway.’

‘Why not?’

‘I read books about war. They’re exciting and interesting and the action is non-stop. One day I’m going to serve my country in the army.’

Bucky chuckled. Who’d have thought little Steve had dreams of being a soldier? It was outrageous, totally impossible, and undeniably cute.

‘Mum was right; you’re all obsessed with war.’

‘Freedom and justice.’

_Was that a challenge? That was definitely a challenge._

‘Massacre will not get you to freedom or justice.’

‘I didn’t say massacre. I said war. War is won by killing bullies. Take out the bullies, take out the problem. Justice is served and freedom is inevitable.’

He couldn’t deny that the kid really was determined. He admired that: that determination to do good in this world, no matter what. It was something Bucky didn’t hear often enough, and he felt his chest swell with pride to realise it was his friend who’d said that. This little kid, this fish out of water from Brooklyn, was a man with a plan. He was the hero the world was waiting for.

Obviously, he was still a ninety pound asthmatic with near nought percent muscle mass, and he also had to review Bucky’s opinion of the play so, he let those thoughts go and returned to the work in hand. ‘I think this play is possibly Shakespeare’s worst work. It’s totally unrealistic. A guy gets ignored by some pretty girl – no surprise there, he’s about thirteen- and then gets a load of people killed because a, he’s a complete dick with too much money, and b, he’s head over heels for some other pretty girl he met at a party. If you’d asked him who Rosaline was after he met Juliet, he’d have no idea.’

‘Do you know any other plays?’

Bucky gulped realising his mistake. Well, every bad boy had his secret right? And it wasn’t as if enjoying the odd play or two was going to make him jump to the conclusion that Bucky was in fact a homosexual. ‘My grandmother was really into theatre. She used to take me all the time.’

‘Why you? You’ve got a sister right?’

He did. He actually had two sisters, and a brother. He wasn’t sure how Steve would know that, and he was very uncomfortable with Steve stereotyping theatre, especially Shakespeare of all things, as feminine. ‘This is strictly between you and me, okay? Yes, I enjoy theatre. Yes, I still go. If you tell anyone, you will wake up in hospital.’

‘You wouldn’t kill me?’

_With a face like yours? Never._

‘Special service offered only to friends.’

The smile was a half-smile. While it was genuine and did relive pressure, he meant that. If Steve told anyone, he would tear him to pieces.

X

It wasn’t uncommon to see people getting beaten up or mugged in Manchester, although usually it was too late to help out. The second Bucky heard the muffled thumps in the next side street he picked up the pace. Dropping his bag at the corner, he peered quietly into the alley. A group of kids in the same uniform as him were beating up someone, not that he could see who. It was enough for him to intervene.

He stepped into the alley, feigning most of the confidence he showed (he was a boxer, one opponent at a time), ‘Cut it out.’

The jeers and punches stopped short as the group spun to face him. He recognised them from the other form. One of them, something Stane, stepped forward, ‘I’m sorry, what did you just say?’

‘Did I stutter or are you deaf?’ He tried to get a look at the victim, but five other kids were stood around him.

‘Funny. Now leave.’

‘Not until you leave the kid alone.’

‘Are you some sort of vigilante, Barnes? No? Then go or I’ll tear your head off.’

‘Ready when you are.’

Surprised by the challenge he let out a quick laugh. Realising the seriousness on Bucky’s face, he quickly switched stance and lashed out at his head. Bucky blocked and countered with a half-hearted punch to the lower ribs. He wanted to check that this guy was really up for a fight- hurting people without a reason just wasn’t his nature.

The next fist to the jaw was enough to prove this was real, and Bucky rammed himself into the guy, pinning him to the floor. Three sharp punches knocked him to the curb of consciousness, and then Bucky stood and allowed him to breathe properly. The taller guy behind him stepped up to take his leader’s place, but Bucky’s glare was enough to make them sprint for the main street, half dragging half carrying Stane with them. Their victim stumbled to his feet and fell forwards into Bucky’s chest, ‘Bucky?’

He was pretty breathless and a bruise was forming over his left cheek bone. His eyes didn’t quite focus on the man holding him.

‘Steve?’

Steve leant heavily against him, trying to catch his breath, ‘I… I had him on the ropes.’ He tried to stand on his own, but fell against the wall and slid to the floor. Bucky knelt in front of him, eyes wide with concern, ‘sure you did,’ his voice sceptical and distracted.

A few minutes passed and Bucky repositioned against the adjacent wall, carefully watching the rise and fall of his chest until the panting stopped and the breaths evened out. After he’d convinced himself the blond was okay, he automatically fished out his cigarettes. He was cupping the lighter’s flame and lifting it to the end of the cigarette when he noticed Steve was shuffling away from him. In response, he hurriedly doused the flame and placed it back in his pocket, an apologetic look spreading through his features.

‘It’s okay, you can smoke if you want to-’

‘No. It’s fine.’

It wasn’t fine at all; he _really_ needed to smoke. He left the unlit cigarette in his mouth for a bit before placing it back in the packet. He needed a distraction if he was going to stay with Steve; and tapping his finders and flicking his lighter on and off wasn’t going to be enough.

‘Are you okay?’

Steve’s question caught off guard. Steve wasn’t okay; this was about Steve’s needs right now. He needed to focus on his friend, make sure he hadn’t broken anything or done any real damage to himself.

‘Of course I’m okay, are you okay?’

‘My side hurts, but it’s probably nothing.’

‘Do you want me to check?’

Something flashed through Steve’s eyes that Bucky couldn’t recognise.

‘No, I’m sure it’s fine. Seriously Bucky, if you need to smoke go ahead.’

_Don’t give in. You’re doing so well. He needs the air right now._

‘I can wait.’

‘If this is about my asthma, I’ll just move or you can move-’

‘I’m fine, Steve, really.’ Those words must have come out more aggressively than planned if the hurt expression on the Yank’s face was anything to go by. He just had to hold off for a few minutes or so, why was this so hard?

The growing void between left a bitter taste in Bucky’s mouth.

_Fix this. Fix this now._

Quite suddenly, Bucky’s mind flashed back to when he was little and his sister had been smoking. She’d told him very carefully not to tell their parents, and then brought out a packet of boiled sweets. Hadn’t she said they’d taken away the scent of tobacco from her mouth or something? That was probably a load of nonsense, but it did remind him of that lollipop he’d won in a bet with Tony (a rare victory, one might add).

And sure enough, there it was in his blazer pocket, miraculously intact. The speed at which he extracted and unwrapped it took Steve by surprise.

‘You were that desperate for a lollipop?’

He was. He definitely was – just having something solid between his lips, something he could focus on, was exactly what he needed. But that wasn’t the sort of thing you said out loud.

‘Don’t worry about it. Are you sure you’re not hurt?’

Not wanting to sound pushy, he tried to amplify the feeling of concern without coming off as creepy. It was difficult, but whatever result Steve picked up clearly made him forget the lollipop ordeal. That was, until, Bucky realised Steve wasn’t actually thinking of an answer, but rather staring at his lips as he maneuvered the lollipop from one cheek to the other.

‘Uh, Steve? Buddy? Eyes up here.’

_Well hold up._

Meaning it as nothing more than a joke, Bucky was quite taken aback at the blush that painted itself on the blond’s cheeks as those sparkling blue eyes ran to the furthest corner of the alley. Not for the first time, he recalled what Tony had said to him on the first day of term.

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What even are my chapter titles... I really struggled with this chapter for some reason, so I apologise for how long it took me to write south of two thousand words. I'm going away on Saturday for two weeks. I'll be working all day and have less alone time than usual. I'll also be lacking a computer. I'll do my best to post something from my sister's laptop but I apologise (again) if all you get is radio silence. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and at some point there will be more!


	4. Chapter 4

There was a set routine to school mornings in Bucky’s house. For Bucky it was very simple; get up, shower, dress, grab stuff, eat, grab that other thing he needed in a blind panic, sprint half the walk to school, then give up on ever making registration. The problem was the whole four children thing. If there weren’t so many kids, there wouldn’t be so many problems. Bucky was the one who never had his school stuff, just his boxing kit and P.E. kit. Seeing as he was also the black sheep of the family, his parents rarely raised a hand to help him with that. Why should they anyway? They’d tried to help him a million times and he was still a mess. They loved him as much as any of the others, but there was no saving Bucky Barnes.

Clint was the eldest by a whole fifteen and a half minutes, which somehow made him stupidly cocky and over sure of himself. His problem that he could not let an argument go, especially if that argument was with a sibling. Especially if that sibling was his highly opinionated, women’s rights activist, twin sister Peggy. They could argue about literally anything, their record being the proper extended uses of a cheese grater, and would do so twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. The worst part was, Clint did it entirely to wind her up. He was fairly indifferent to women’s rights, ‘if they want them, let them have them, by all means’ was his exact phrasing as of that morning.

Peggy had dropped out of school at the age of sixteen, wanting to be more active in the community and feeling the need to prove her independence. She had said she wouldn’t move out for a few more years, but by day she worked in the local sweet store or aided the ongoing campaign for further women’s rights (she called the right to vote just a stepping stone on the slippery path to equality). She often spent her evenings with Clint, still learning from his text books and homework. She wanted to be both educated and useful, and was doing an excellent job of balancing both.

Between the constant debates and Bucky’s general uselessness, it was really no wonder that his younger sister Natasha was constantly grumpy. She was equally intelligent and interesting, but lacked the authority to show it. She also resented how their mother treated her like her ‘darling baby girl.’ She’d tried numerous times to explain that she was only taking Ballet to aide her gymnastics, and that she wanted to wear grey and _not_ pink when she had to run track, but all she received were sparkly leotards and new tutus. Not that you could deny her talents; she was, of course, Manchester’s number one gymnast by a long way.

With all this kerfuffle behind him, Bucky strolled leisurely into his school just as the bell rang for first period.

X

Steve was entirely lost in his own thoughts when someone of considerable strength yanked him sideways and onto a bench. Since the start of term he’d sat in one place, right at the edge of the cafeteria where pretty much no one would notice him and he could eat his lunch undisturbed. This bench was not his bench. This bench was right in the middle of the hall, where everyone could see you and you couldn’t do a thing about it.

An arm slammed itself into his back as he tried to look up and see why he was sitting at this particular table.

‘Hi Steve. Tony Stark.’

Utterly bewildered, Steve turned to meet the celebrity’s solid brown eyes. Despite the fact they seemed comforting, the rest of the situation had him on edge and he started to feel his chest tighten up. A fist flew from nowhere and connected with Tony’s shoulder.

‘Ow!’

He was so perfectly melodramatic.

‘Don’t scare my friends you bastard.’

Tony waved his best friend off and looked back at Steve, ‘I’m not actually a bastard, or scary. I’m very nice.’

Bucky leant into the American’s ear, ‘He’s not. He’s also a liar.’

‘James Barnes, I am not a liar.’

Bucky rolled his eyes, but didn’t find any words to respond with. Tony wasn’t worth arguing with; he was the best and no one was allowed to dispute that.

The second Tony’s attention was diverted Steve looked up at Bucky, ‘why am I sitting here?’

‘I won’t have people throwing punches into your face. The closer you are to the school’s best boxer and the incredibly perfect Tony Stark, the better off you’ll be.’

‘You don’t need to do this, I can handle myself-’

‘Tell that to your black eye and think again.’

Bucky’s table wasn’t so bad really. Bucky seemed a little more withdrawn than Tony’s exclusive fan club, but he chimed in when he needed to. Tony seemed to be backing Steve’s corner left, right, and center. Every time someone, usually a brute of a man called Banner, tried to put the joke on him, Tony turned it around effortlessly.

‘Banner’s actually a great guy, you’ve just got to get used to his tendency to deem you a lesser man. Once you’ve earned his respect, he’s great. Usually.’

That didn’t comfort Steve, but he became a little more determined to prove himself in some way.

Bucky had been right though – just hanging around with Tony and ‘the entourage’ was enough to stop the random insults and the majority of the unwarranted glares. At the very least Stane stopped focusing in on the Yank and more on Bucky.

X

Bucky was on time for the lesson.

 _Bucky_ was _on time_ for a _lesson_.

James Bucky Barnes. On time. For. A. Lesson.

Steve couldn’t find the words to ask him why or how he was _on time_ for a lesson – a Monday lesson no less. He also realised that Bucky’s middle name was probably not Bucky, but that mystery was for another day.

Bucky Barnes; the man was one surprise after another.

Clearly this silent awe was bugging the brunette, ‘What?’

What?

_What?!?!_

‘What?! Bucky, it’s Monday. It’s English. You hate Mondays. You _hate_ English. You hate Mrs. Bryce. And you smoke.’

‘What? A man can’t arrive on time for a lesson, taught no less than by one of his least favourite people?’

‘Not Bucky. Bucky has to smoke and play truant.’

Bucky smirked and unwrapped a small lollipop before purposefully placing it in his mouth, ‘not today, my blue coated friend.’

 _That_ was off putting. Bucky, he had discovered, was one of those people that were always ‘gasping’ for a smoke. If he’d said it once that day, he’d said it a million times; he was ‘absolutely gasping.’ This was new. Bucky’s confidence waned between cigarettes, like they helped him or something. He was only this confident around Tony _and_ while he was smoking. How could a goddamn lollipop-

Speaking of which he was doing that thing where he slowly switched the sweet from one side of his mouth to the other. Steve felt the breath rush out of him and he quickly looked down at the work sheet in an attempt to find some much needed air. How long had he stopped breathing for? Years?

Bucky’s concern washed away the moment Steve inhaled properly and he continued just sucking on the lolly throughout the lesson. Steve didn’t look at him. He _couldn’t_ look at him or his little charade was over.

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucky you, you get this shorter chapter. This is the last chapter before the 'action' starts, so enjoy this loosely disguised info dump and I'll see you in chapter 5!


	5. Chapter 5

Half term; a holiday where one is both eternally grateful and utterly bored. Grateful for the long awaited break in the week in, week out work system, but bored because all of a sudden you’re not surrounded by friends. For people like Tony and Steve, this was horrible. Tony often became worked up doing science _alone_ all day long with no one to appreciate his talents. Steve felt that awful feeling of hollowness return to him, a feeling that always emptied him as the loneliness set in.

Bucky, on the other hand, evaded this loneliness by throwing himself into his boxing and family. Nat always valued friendly competition when running track, Peggy welcomed any help with painting posters and distributing flyers, and Clint… Clint didn’t mind the extra conversation. He did promise himself he’d visit both his friends at least once

To his credit, he actually dropped in on Tony quite early. Tony informed him that there would be a party so he could just see other people. He claimed it would be enough to stop him from going completely insane. Of course, the conversation progressed from there into Tony’s biggest concern for the moment; Bucky’s love life.

‘Have you seen Stevie-boy yet?’

The glare he received was more about the tone of the question, rather than the content itself. It did answer adequately however.

‘I was going to check in on him on Thursday, but I’m at _someone’s_ party.’

‘He’s invited.’

‘He’s not really that sort of guy-‘

‘He will be by Thursday.’

It was hopeless. He had more luck convincing Nat that the Yanks weren’t the ‘enemy,’ than he did of persuading Tony to not drag the kid into this. Steve would have to suffer and even Bucky couldn’t save him from that fate- however, he could always prep him for the occasion. The conversation dissolved from there into science, engineering, and anything Bucky could work in so they could both speak English for two minutes. He left some hours later, promising to visit Steve before Thursday.

 

X

Bucky knew where Steve’s house was, but he’d never seen it until now. It was considerably smaller than his, but the front garden was larger and better kept (chores just weren’t his thing). The path to the door was gravel instead of flag stones and crunched noisily underfoot. The noise was enough to alert the homeowners to the visitor’s presence and a large, tanned lady pulled the door open in response.

‘You must be Bucky.’

The whole not-a-question-but-a-statement thing threw his confidence off a little, but he nodded and stood up straight. The lady, presumably Steve’s aunt, judging by the heavy deep-south accent, leaned on the door frame and indicated to the stairs behind her. Bucky paused for moment before ducking inside and making a dash for the stairs, glancing into a stuffy living room on his way.

At the top of the stairs were two doors, one clearly a small bathroom, the other likely Steve’s bedroom. Bucky had a thing about going into people’s rooms; it was a private space, not to be disturbed by guests. He had only been in Tony’s room a number of times, mostly to sleep, and he’d barely set foot in his sibling’s bedrooms, and now here he was contemplating whether this was really an appropriate arrangement.

So he knocked; ‘Bucky?’

Bucky took that as permission to enter and slipped in. Steve was on his bed with a magazine, wearing about seven jumpers and his duvet.

‘Bucky, do me a favour and pass me that sweater.’

The Brit recalled the first time Steve had called his school jumper a sweater. It was probably the ten most confusing seconds of his life, before he caught on to what Steve was trying to say. He passed over the red jumper on the chair and joined him on the bed, deeming the chair at the desk too weak to hold his (considerable) weight.

‘Why have you got the window open?’

Bucky knew what that face meant, because it was the face Steve made whenever Bucky pulled out his cigarettes instead of a lollipop; it meant his aunt and uncle smoked. From what little Bucky knew about Steve’s family, they weren’t exactly the nicest of people. It was a wonder Steve was friendly at all, never mind perfect.

_He is just about the most perfect human being of all._

Steve, shivering as he was, looked at his friend; ‘so this party-’

‘You really don’t have to go.’

‘But Tony-’

‘Don’t be pressured into anything because of Tony. Tony’s a dick at the best of times.’

_That was certainly true._

Bucky did not want Steve there, and that was seriously a _NOT WANT._ Bucky didn’t cope well at parties. He always spent the first hour smoking and drinking WAY too much, and then became paranoid everyone would find out his dirty little secret. That never ended well, and he would just hope everyone would forget what happened. Tony was used to this behaviour, but that was a vulnerable side he didn’t want Steve to see.

The conversation digressed from there, into Steve’s magazine and Bucky’s boxing victories. Steve always asked how Bucky’s family were – he’d only met Peggy on emergency runs for lollipops, but he enjoyed listening to Bucky complain about how awful his siblings were. It was something Steve had never had, and it both fascinated and entertained him. Bucky asked a little after Steve’s family, but it was a topic they rarely touched on, as Steve didn’t have much to say, and none of what he did say was good news.

After an hour of banter, the afternoon was getting on into early evening and the temperature dropped further.

‘Your weather is crazy,’ Steve managed to stutter between chattering teeth.

‘Just like our people. Do you want me to fetch another blanket, or…’ he trailed off, knowing the answer lay somewhere between Steve not wanting to cause him trouble and his aunt not caring enough to know where the spare bedding was kept if there even was any.

Unsure of what else to do, Bucky lifted the covers and shuffled along the wall until he was right next to Steve and pulled the covers round them tighter. He looped his right arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulled him closer. Steve didn’t make a single objection, and actually relaxed into Bucky’s hold.

They sat that way silently for nearing an hour before it started getting dark and Bucky decided he should try to get back to his house for dinner. Quite unwillingly, he unwrapped himself from Steve and made for the door. Neither of them said much aside from some kind of goodbye, but Bucky’s eyes locked onto Steve’s and read the thanks in them loud and clear. It filled him with a little warmth and he wished that he could have stayed with Steve all night.

The walk home felt much lonelier and colder than it really was, as if everything around him was sad or tired. He found himself sighing an awful lot as he exhaled cloud after cloud of smoke into the evening air, trying every trick in the book to forget about Steve. Steve and his fragile frame, and his little heartbeat, and his shattered breathing, and-

_Goddammit Bucky, get a hold of yourself._

It wasn’t as if Steve wasn’t wrapped up in a million blankets totally focused on how Bucky’s solid body had felt holding him tight. He’d overheard the odd conversation about how Bucky wasn’t ‘normal’ or ‘into women,’ but he’d dismissed it as jealousy and malicious gossip. Now something inside him hoped, no wanted, no _needed_ those rumours to be true. He wanted Bucky to be that close to him. He wanted to be the one Bucky held onto. He needed that like he needed air.

X

Despite Bucky’s advice, he’d arrived at the party. Bucky had abandoned him hours ago, just after they finished their first pints, something about proving himself by drinking large quantities of alcohol. He hadn’t even seen Tony, but he was probably occupied with all the other guests. Still, he felt a little let down, but Bucky had seemed particularly on edge and Tony was a man in great demand.

But now it was the early hours of the morning and Steve needed _air._ The stench of tobacco, sweat, and alcohol had flooded every crevice of the house, and any remaining oxygen had been used up by more lively party-goers.

Not wanting to freeze to death outside, he fled to the first floor of the mansion, then the second floor seeing as half the party was still there. The first door was a small bathroom, and Steve wasn’t sure if he could handle the volume of vomit on the floor. The second door was locked, and presumed it to be Tony’s bedroom. The third door was unmarked and it sounded quiet- not that between gasps and blood pounding in his ears he could really tell, but nevertheless he threw himself through the door and sank down the wardrobe inside.

Meanwhile, Bucky had come to the conclusion that Satan himself had created bras. They didn’t look or feel remotely comfortable, and the hook things never came undone without some female know-how. It didn’t surprise him that whoever was straddling his waist wanted out of it.

Once off, the action started kicking off. He could feel something like kisses being laid down his chest and really hoped they’d stop before his boxer shorts. He hated this part of the party, and willed himself to pass out before they really got going. At the very least he could do with some divine intervention.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he sarcastically thanked Lucifer for being on top form that evening, as through his hazy vision and slowed mind he witnessed a ridiculously blond kid crash into the opposite wardrobe and slide to the carpet. He later recalled the girl shrieking and making a run for it with all her clothing, while he just sat there; topless and locked onto the Yank, who was wheezing away on the floor.

‘Holy fuck’ were the words that came to mind, but he could join them together in a way that made sense enough to say out loud.

‘Bucky,’ the American coughed.

‘Steve,’ the Brit slurred.

The conversation, what little there was of it, paused so Steve could properly catch his breath. If Bucky’s vision wasn’t completely screwed, he may have observed just how much pain there really was in His friend’s eyes. As it was, he could just about make out they were blue.

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t…apolo….ap,’ Bucky struggled to find the rest of the word, but Steve used his hand to cut him off.

‘It’s okay, I should have knocked or something.’

Steve could feel the hot tears rolling down his face – he’d tried so hard to keep them back and he didn’t fully comprehend why they were there at all.

‘I’m sorry,’ he croaked out, his voice on breaking point. Bucky passed out not two minutes later, leaving Steve sobbing on the floor.

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this. Constructive criticisms always welcome. Also, I want to know how fussed you guys are about smut? Do you need it like air or are you not fussed? If you could comment below, that would be great, thanks.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve cried. He hadn’t cried like this in years. It was the sort of crying where the tears flowed of their own accord and the ugly sobs were trapped in your throat, forcing you to gasp for air just so you could keep crying. It was horrible and painful and everything Steve didn’t need right now. He didn’t want to cry. He wanted to go home and sleep. He wanted to sleep for thousands of years and erase this night completely from his mind.

Eventually the tears stopped running. He felt drained, as if all the life in him had been sucked out and tossed out of reached. He could find neither the strength nor will to stand and leave, so he rolled onto his side and curled up tightly on the carpet. Shivers ran down his spine from the cool night air that breezed through the window, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to stay there, squeezed tight between the wardrobe and Bucky’s bed. He wanted so many things that he could never have.

Most of all, he wanted Bucky. He wanted to be with Bucky for eternity. He wished he could just live in his bed and come home to all Bucky’s siblings. He could move out with Bucky and they could live out in the country. They could travel the world, camping out in far away places, discovering worlds that no man had dreamt off. Then they could grow old together, squabbling over sandwich spreads and news articles. He played out that fantasy a million times in his head before he finally drifted off.

X

The shrill ring of the house phone startled Bucky into conciseness . He threw his aching body into an upright position and slammed his palm to his head in an attempt to rid himself of the apparent hangover he had gained. Over the next half hour he stumbled into the en suite, dowsed his face in freezing water and tripped back into bed.

Rolling onto his back, he lit up a cigarette and tried to remember what he could from the previous night. Up until the drinking game it was pretty clear. After that, all his memories were utterly scrambled. Someone had dragged him by his shirt all the way up two flights of stairs. There was blip there, but he was pretty sure he disliked her bra, and then she screamed and ran out.

_Oh god._

Tentatively, he sat up right and shuffled quietly to the edge of the bed. He made himself lean a little over the edge, just to peek at whatever it was he had tripped over.

_Please be some half naked girl. Just this once be some total stranger._

He looked down on the blond haired Yank, wincing and berating himself as the memories came flooding back; he’d interrupted whatever had been going on. He’d seen Bucky with some girl and collapsed. He’d cried. He’d cried and Bucky had done nothing.

Bucky tossed the cigarette out the window and crouched on the floor. His forehead felt fine, but he was shivering. He was shivering a lot. Shoving the dresser in front of the door to guarantee some privacy, he knelt beside Steve’s tiny body and lifted him, gently lowering him onto the bed. With his muscles still aching and his head pounding, he found it difficult to focus wrapping the covers around his friend in a manner which would be both warm and comfortable. After a few minutes of tugging and folding, he fell back on the sofa, half satisfied with his efforts.

Steve gradually warmed up under the several layers of expensive bedding, staying very still in his sleep. His breaths were so quiet that they worried Bucky, forcing him to sit up and check the American was actually alive. Bucky didn’t sleep. He drifted in and out of a sleep like state, too tired to really ne awake, but too distressed to really get off. As the morning went on he heard a few guests leaving, able to pick Banner out among them as he was giggling rather loudly with some girl- at a guess it was Tony’s cousin, but he really couldn’t confirm that.

On reflection, he was pretty happy he didn’t have to go any further with that stranger, although he would have liked to remember her a little so he could apologise. She might have had dark hair, but he couldn’t see a face or name. It didn’t matter to much- she probably didn’t deserve an apology, seeing as she practically took advantage of Bucky in his drunken state.

Steve shifted slightly under the covers and half opened his eyes.

_I can’t do this._

The second Steve put his head down again, Bucky bolted for the door and straight up sprinted the corridor and stairs, before throwing himself into Tony’s bedroom door. Someone on the other side stirred and started unlocking the door. Tony swung open the door, and reading the panic on Bucky’s face, grabbed his arm and dragged him into the sitting room at the end of the hallway. Any guests who had been here had long left, and Tony made sure the door was firmly shut before handing over the emergency supply of cigarettes.

Bucky inhaled the smoke gratefully and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing him to settle his thoughts into some kind of order.

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t remember too well. I had a lot to drink and then some girl was on me and then Steve…’

Tony held his friend’s shoulders straight and looked him in the eye, ‘Steve? What did Steve do?’

‘He walked in on us and she screamed and he was crying and I didn’t do anything.’

‘She screamed?’

‘And ran out.’

‘And you guys were, you know?’

‘No, no she was just on top of me and-’

‘Just smoke and calm down.’

Bucky was way too distressed to notice Howard, Tony’s dad, poke his head round the corner. Outside of parties, very few people were allowed to smoke in Howard’s house. Bucky was one of the exceptions. Howard left with a nod to his son, and Tony quickly turned his attention back to Bucky, whose breaths were shaky but even.

‘Go slowly, what exactly happened?’

‘Steve came in having an asthma attack or something, she screamed and ran out and he said sorry and I said sorry and he said sorry and then he cried and I passed out.’

‘That wasn’t slowly.’

‘Sorry,’ he whined, ‘I tripped over him this morning and I put him in the bed because he was cold and then I freaked because what do I do when he wakes up?’

‘Slow down. The first thing you do is slow down. Then you smoke until you’re calmer, and then you can go home and sleep off that hangover while I regret ever inviting you.’

Tony was good like that; he understood how people worked, and adapted to their needs. This was only a service he offered in desperate times, but it was what Bucky needed; clear, easy instructions. He promised to drop by later (with the elusive shirt if he could locate it), and promptly shoved him into the street.

He smoked the entire way home. He smoked as he came through the front door. He smoked as he lay on his bed, doing his best to stay calm. He smoked all day, right up until he heard a soft knock at the door.

‘Tony?’

X

Steve slowly got up and splashed water on his face, jumping a little at the sight of Tony in the mirror behind him. Tony handed him a jumper and walked him to the door without a word. As he pushed him into the street he advised Steve to visit Bucky.

‘But last night-’

‘Just do it. Bucky isn’t as brave as you might think.’

The walk to Bucky’s was slow. He didn’t want to see Bucky, and Bucky clearly didn’t want to see him, or he would have stayed. Or maybe he did want to see him, but couldn’t bring himself to do that; he had moved Steve to the bed, after all.

Peggy welcomed him inside, offering him a snack or drink- he politely declined, not ready for coffee and still not a fan of tea and biscuits. He passed Nat on the stairs, his smiled returned with a steady glare. He’d only met Nat once, but even in those few minutes it was clear she wasn’t really a people person. He’d never met Bucky’s parents or older brother, but he could hear them in the kitchen. He had to guess which door led to Bucky’s room, although he could figure it out from every vivid description he’d ever heard.

Bucky had a thing about bedrooms; Tony had told him as much when he’d invited him to the party. He didn’t understand why that information was relevant, and he felt terrible that he’d forced Bucky to be in his room. Now he was going to barge into his friend’s room and verbally assault him, just when he was at his most vulnerable. Obviously he didn’t want to come across like that, but it was how Bucky would see it, and that was a fact he doubted he could change.

He knocked as softly as he could. It wasn’t that he lacked the courage to see Bucky, he just didn’t want his friend to be put in further anguish. Maybe if he was quiet, he would go unnoticed.

‘Tony?’

Bucky’s voice sounded broken, torn up even. He took a deep breath and set himself up for further heartbreak. Someone had to be the bigger man here, and Bucky was clearly not up to that role.

‘Actually it’s Steve.’

No reply. No noise. Nothing.

‘If you want me to leave, then I’ll go.

There was silence for a whole two minutes. The American sighed, and took a heavy hearted step towards the stairs. Had his hearing been any worse he might have missed the muffled voice on the other side of the door.

‘What did you say?’

A laboured breath, ‘don’t go.’

Not wanting to sound overly hopeful, he strained to make his voice tentative, ‘Does that mean I can come in?’

Steve guessed he heard someone getting off a mattress and opening a window. There was a crinkly paper sound and then heavy footsteps heading for the door. Bucky didn’t open the door very far, enough for Steve to squeeze through. Then it was securely shut and the Brit, for one reason or another topless, sank onto the bed. His room was a little larger than Steve’s, and definitely tidier. Steve elected to sit next to his friend on the bed, rather than the chair across from him; eye contact would probably worsen the situation.

A cold breeze drifted through the window, chilling Steve through his clothes. Judging by the pile of cigarette butts, he wouldn’t be able to breathe without the air flow, and wished he could simply thank Bucky for switching to a lollipop.

‘Sorry.’

Steve decided it was best to let Bucky talk, and ignore how his voice was about to break down into sobs.

‘I just… I get drunk, and I do stupid things.’

‘Messing around with a pretty girl is your business. It’s not stupid.’

A tear rolled down his cheek as he twisted the lollipop in his hands.

It is. It’s stupid when you don’t go for that sort of thing. It’s especially stupid when you like someone else.’

Steve allowed the conversation to pause and allow Bucky to release a shaky breath before continuing.

‘That sort of thing?’

Their eyes met and Steve realised what his friend was suggesting, ‘You mean to say all those rumours are true?’

‘Rumours?’

‘You’re, uh…’ he began, dropping his voice to a whisper, ‘you’re a homosexual.’

The brunette bit his lip, casting his focus downwards, to something on the floor.

‘Please don’t tell anyone.’

Steve wouldn’t. He couldn’t betray a friend like that.

‘Who else knows?’

‘Tony. Peggy and Tony’s dad might. And then anyone else I’ve done stuff with.’

Steve had to ask, ‘why were you with a girl then?’

‘I was drunk, and I suppose it stops rumours. Mostly I was drunk.’

‘I’m sorry I interrupted.’

‘Don’t be,’ his eyes were wide and watery, ‘it saved me a lot of trouble.’

They stared at each other in silence, until quite suddenly Steve leaned forward and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wifi is even worse than before, but I'm here. I'm not going to tag anything as underage because the characters are 16 and I'm British.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky blinked. He had the most beautiful eyes; all green and blue and grey. Steve had always hated how his eyes were just blue. He wanted to be one of those people with blue eyes that changed color in the light. He wanted his eyes to stand out from the rest. One day Bucky would tell him as much, but not yet.

Bucky also let out a short sigh. Steve always held onto his sighs, because with Bucky, it was the little things. With Bucky, a sigh could mean a lot, but he read it as mostly relief with a hint of satisfaction. The American had learnt to translate every breath Bucky took: despite being passed of for some dumbass failing student, or some block headed boxer, he was actually pretty smart. Smarter than Steve imagined he would ever let on- except inevitably, Bucky would one day be seen as extraordinarily smart, but not yet.

Bucky took a moment to stare and Steve. The blond’s eyes flickered down. They took in Bucky’s pale pink lips, dampened with saliva. They glanced over his slim neck, a rare feature for a boxing champion. They drank in the way his grey t-shirt clung to his muscle bound body- envying the shirt more than the body itself. One day he would stare at all those parts of Bucky in great detail, but not yet.

None of the above would come to pass that day of late February in the year 1936, because neither the pint-sized American hero-wannabe, nor the boxing prodigy, likely future high school dropout Brit were ready for that. But they would be one day, because some people are important.  Naturally, everyone is of some importance, but these two boys’ fates were bound to events that no one in any universe or in any time, could ever alter.

Not that any of this mattered to them right now- they could barely imagine where they would be just a few years from now, never mind decades into a future they never believed they’d live to see. Right now, they had each other. It was all they wanted and needed, which is explanation enough for the sudden jolt of courage that sent Bucky’s hand grabbing for Steve’s jumper and pulling down so they were chest to chest. Or, more importantly, face to face.

And this time the kiss was led by Bucky. It was deeper, and lasted much longer. And Steve needed that. He’d been testing the ice, and Bucky was confirming that it was most definitely strong enough for the both of them. Except it couldn’t last forever, as Steve had hoped it would, for Bucky had far too many questions.

‘When did you know?’

‘Know what?’

‘That you weren’t into girls?’

Oh. And this was what he had dreaded about this fantasy. Wasn’t that always what the other guy asked?

But he couldn’t lie to Bucky.

‘I’m… I’m kinda into girls. I just… I like guys too.’

Bucky’s face had been unreadable since he was born. Today it was at its absolute low as far as legibility went.

_What in God’s name does that mean?_

The eyebrows moved, but Steve wasn’t getting anything clear enough to be an actual emotion.

_Does he know what he’s into or has he been taking something?_

Bucky quickly licked his lips, but that could have meant anything.

‘Okay.’

_Possibly okay. Probably not. He might be crazy._

‘Okay?’

Steve did not expect an ‘okay.’ Bucky said ‘ok,’ all the time, but ‘ _okay_ ,’ was totally different. It was serious. It was (thankfully) accepting.

‘Yeah. Okay. I get it. It’s clicked.’

‘You mean you’re fine with that?’

_No. Maybe. How should I know, you crazy, adorable mess of a person?_

‘Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?’

_Well it’s not that his behaviour will change dramatically and he’ll start sleeping around with everyone in the world now I know. Hopefully._

‘Just thought you’d be more… shaken.’

‘Yeah. No. Totally fine.’

_More like ‘you’re too cute to let it bother me.’ So very, very cute._

Naturally, they spent the rest of the day in Bucky’s room. Steve curled up to his friend (well, not really ‘friend’ per se, but they’d forgotten to discuss that detail) to keep from the cold air getting to him. Bucky liked that, so he left the window open, pretending he’d forgotten all about it.

They discussed boxing, and how (as Steve understood it), Bucky had a big match on Sunday, which would decide if he was ready for that year’s club competition. Bucky rarely lost such matches, but it was still important to him. Steve considered going, but he didn’t believe in senselessly beating the life out of a man (or woman, obviously) for sport. That wasn’t what sport meant to him. He was a baseball fan, but the British had deemed it a silly game.

Steve couldn’t help but ask about Bucky’s previous relationships with men, and wasn’t all that surprised that his friend had more experience with women. Steve new he was a bit of a girl magnet, and obviously that had led to some fairly awkward situations that Bucky refused to disclose the full details of. He had had ‘encounters’ with a few of the more queer lads at the boxing club, but nothing more than the odd hand job or quick snog- which was apparently a form of kissing equivalent to making out, and a new word Steve decided it would be best to learn.

Bucky’s family- or at least his mum- insisted he stay for dinner, which consisted of mash potato, sausage and gravy. His aunt usually made more American style foods, so the wonders of British cuisine properly presented (school dinners tending to be mush with a side of vegetable matter) were a much relished discovery. Bucky quickly realised he ought to take Steve out to a chippy and fully acquaint him with afternoon tea and scones, after listening to his friend’s explanation of how American food consisted of steak and milkshake.

The blond was also thankful to finally meet Bucky’s family, having only briefly met Peggy in the sweet shop. He wasn’t too sure about Clint, and was a little offended by Nat’s cold stares, but his friend’s mum and dad seemed like hard working, genuine people. Somehow, he could picture how Bucky’s manners had evolved from them, but his rough streak had developed from his opposing his practically perfect siblings- clearly his parents did not see Bucky’s boxing adventures equal to Clint’s academic results, Peggy’s activism and independence, and Nat’s incredible gymnastic skills.

And seeing as Steve was entirely worn out after being hounded with questions and stories from Bucky’s relatives, Bucky himself insisted he sleep over and become the second person in the entire world who had been allowed to actually camp out in Bucky’s room. After finding some reasonably fitting pyjamas, the blond collapsed on the single mattress that had been left on the floor. Bucky’s mum made sure they were all okay, and then promptly switch out the lights. Steve closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion drag him away from consciousness. And then he shivered, realising just how cold the room was.

‘Bucky?’

‘Mmm?’

‘The window is still open.’

‘Mm.’

Okay. Someone was sleepy.

‘Could you please close it?’

‘Mnm.’

Not wanting to seem rude and lean over Bucky’s bed to try and close it, he rolled over and tried to ignore it.

Something heavy and warm landed on Steve.

Something considerably heavier landed next to him.

Bucky slid under the blanket and duvet, wrapped himself around Steve’s tiny frame, and promptly fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally I have written this. I hope this isn't awful. Thank you everyone who has bookmarked this or hit the kudos button; I love you all. We may be nearing a bit of a time jump (only a few years), so I will warn you to cling on tightly to whatever fluff you get in the next couple of chapters, because I'm well practiced in writing horror and pain.
> 
> As I said, love you all.


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of the week swept by like a hurricane. Bucky woke up the next morning, securely wrapped around Steve. Before he knew it Steve was gone and his fists started on the punching bag in front of him. Then it was Sunday and he was in the ring, Tony screaming at him to his left (Tony always had money on Bucky, and Tony didn’t like losing), and Banner pounding the raised stage to his right.

Monday was school.

Tuesday was school.

Wednesday was school.

Thursday was what he guessed was his first official date with Steve, and he laughed as the blond struggled with the concept of mushy peas. He said they were disgusting and watery and not at all pea like. Bucky explained they were literally mashed up peas. Steve also didn’t understand why you would put the ‘not actually gravy’ on chips, but having tasted it, that opinion no longer mattered.

Friday was another boxing match- nothing important, but Tony still screamed. And Banner turned up. Banner was acting rather strangely for Banner. Banner usually cheered on Bucky’s opponents, but apparently he was now some sort of fan.

The weekend was hell, but that’s what a four child family is like- especially with a set of twins.

And the moon went round the earth and the earth went found the sun.

X

Late July, 1938. Manchester wasn’t particularly busy, nor particularly lazy. The sun was mostly out, the occasional shower soaking the population from time to time.  School was over, college was over, and university was not an option with results like Bucky’s.

He’d been very relaxed up until this moment.

Steve had spoken for ages and ages and _ages_ about finally ditching his aunt and uncle. And he’d done it. As of a month ago, he had officially moved out and started paying rent for an apartment in town. It wasn’t huge, it wasn’t lavishly furnished, but it was Steve’s place. A place where no one could hurt him and he could live in peace.

And _that_ was what was bothering Bucky. It was Steve’s place. Steve had a job which paid for every room and every piece of furniture. It smelled of Steve.

And Steve wanted Bucky to move in.

He wasn’t sure if he was ready; what would people think?

x

One cool evening, entirely out of habit, Bucky had lent in to give Steve a peck on the lips, and Steve had taken the opportunity to grab that perpetually ruffled collar and pull him into a real kiss. A real kiss that would have lasted hours if Bucky hadn’t broken off for air.

It wasn’t until the following Sunday, when Steve turned up at Bucky’s house in a real state did they realise someone had been watching. Bucky didn’t know her from Adam, but Steve did- she used to run the Sunday school at Steve’s (former) church.  After mass, the priest had taken Steve and his aunt aside (his uncle apparently ‘too disgusted’ at the allegations to want to hear any more on the matter). He’d asked if Steve wanted to confess anything, or if he was ill. Steve had been completely confused and asked why.

‘You were seen behaving inappropriately with another man.’

Steve had no clue what he had meant, ‘Inappropriately?’

‘Thursday evening of this week. He was tall with dark hair, wearing a similar uniform to yourself.’

Oh. _Oh._

‘It wasn’t-’

His aunt stepped in, and it suddenly became apparent she had been prepped for this conversation.

‘Father, I know this other boy. He’s a misfit and a ruffian. I have heard that he often takes advantage of young, innocent women, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if my nephew was just another of… his victims.’

The priest nodded gravely at her tastelessly melodramatic tone, ‘of course, of course. He is a man possessed by the devil. I take it he isn’t a believer?’

The question was meant for Steve. He saw his aunt nodding slightly, egging him to join the act so he could be ‘saved.’ And it was a difficult moment for Steve, because he was quite sure he loved Bucky. To deny that would be to betray Bucky, but to say as much would mean he had been led astray.

Suddenly, he recalled a sermon that had taught him that you should always pursue love, for love could not be wrong. All his life he had been told to just be true to himself, follow his dreams no matter what. Most importantly, he realised that maybe Sunday service was not all there was to his faith. He believed in a God who granted freedom, equality and peace- and if there were three things the Catholic Church had robbed him of, it was freedom, equality, and peace.

As long as you followed God’s laws and blindly followed the church’s teachings, you were free. As long as you never challenged priests or bishops, or the role of women in the church, you were equal. As long as you did not dare to declare the church wrong, there would be peace. He realised his God was so very different from theirs. His God was good and fair; he put men and women on this earth to be good and fair to one another, and to thrive. Their God had once encouraged them to wage war over little more than land. Their God asked for coin. Their God had been twisted and moulded to be what they needed him to be.

Steve stood, ‘James Buchanan Barnes? No, he’s not a believer. He comes from a Christian family, but saw early on that God, as he was presented to him, was not worthy of being a God. This ruined what faith he had, and I do not blame him for rejecting God- who wouldn’t? It is difficult to put your faith in something you’re told is so good, when the only proof you really have is that there is evil in this world.’

‘But he’s not a bad man- yes, he boxes and he swears, he drinks and he smokes, and has done from a much earlier age than you could imagine, but he’s not a bad person. He’d never take advantage of anyone, he’d never hit a lady, and he’d only use his fighting skills in self-defence or good-natured sport.’

‘And he’d never, not ever take advantage of me. He has sworn he’d never hurt me- he’d sooner die. Whoever did see us behaving ‘inappropriately’ is a snitch and a liar. He is my best friend, and I have him to thank for showing me, truly, that god is not who you say he is. As of today, consider me a stranger to this congregation and your practices. You will not see me again, and I will practice my faith in private to a God who is worthy of such a title.’

He left, satisfied that he had made his position clear without lying- or at the very least, not twisting the truth out of proportion- or being excessively offensive. Steve never went to church again, and became much happier, knowing he could still love and believe in God without having to have someone else validate his faith for him.

X

Of course Bucky left out the messy aftermath of that meeting, but on the whole Steve was better off. His relationship with what family he had left was absolutely wrecked, and he took to more or less living in Bucky’s house, but no one minded. Steve got on with everyone in Bucky’s house, maybe aside from Nat, but she didn’t cause much trouble.

_So technically, we’ve been living together for years. It will be fine._

Bucky raised a hand to knock on the door, but stopped short of it, his whole body sagging.

_What if we break up?_

X

Bucky practically fell through Steve’s bedroom door, and then chucked his boxing gear and school books all over the room and sprang on top of Steve.

‘Ow,’ remarked Steve at the pain brought by Bucky’s considerable weight crushing him to half to death.

‘Your precious face was missing from English. I needed to see it in case it had gone missing.’

‘So my personality counts for nothing?’

Bucky planted a kiss on his forehead, ‘nope.’

‘If you care about my face so much, why did you go to boxing first?’

Bucky pushed himself back until he was up right, and Steve took the opportunity to breathe and shuffle up onto his elbows.

‘Steve, it’s two in the afternoon. School’s not even finished.’

Steve gasped in horror, although he wasn’t all that surprised that Bucky was skipping lessons and training and what-not. He was actually touched he was skiving just because he’d missed English.

‘You shouldn’t be skipping school.’

‘I could say the same to you, but you probably have a better reason other than you wanted me to sit in your lap,’ teased Bucky, winking suggestively. Steve hit him as hard as he could, and watched his boyfriend pretend to die from the wound and fall into a heap on the bedroom floor.

‘I… had an asthma attack last night. My aunt told me to take the day off.’

Bucky squinted up at the blond, ‘You have asthma attacks all the time.’

Steve waved it off, ‘She’s just concerned.’

Bucky squinted more, actually sitting up and paying Steve some real attention, ‘I’m not sure she can feel concern.’

‘It’s nothing.’

The Brit climbed onto the bed and looked Steve dead in the eye, ‘you’re lying to me.’

‘It was just an asthma attack-’

‘It clearly wasn’t.’

Silence passed between them. Steve knew Bucky only wanted the truth because he cared, and he told himself that a million times over.

‘It was a bad asthma attack.’

There. Truth’s out. Everybody could go home now.

‘Bad?’ Bucky repeated, chewing on his lip.

‘Bad.’

Nope. Bucky wasn’t buying that.

‘Really bad. I couldn’t breathe at all. It was horrible. My aunt thought I was dying. Happy now?’

Bucky sat very still. He wasn’t the sort to sit still, just because he had a lot of energy to use up. But he didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t blink. He didn’t _breathe._

‘Why?’

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer.

‘Why Steve?’

He couldn’t.

‘If it was because your folks were smoking until all hours of the night, you are not staying in this house-’

‘I had a dream where I had to leave you and you couldn’t take that and you shot yourself, and then I woke up and I couldn’t breathe.’

Bucky’s arms were around him before he could say another word. They stayed there, wrapped tight, spreading the Brit’s unmistakable warm throughout his body. He felt a sob shake through him and the tears began to roll.

‘My dad didn’t die from the stabbing, he came back and he blamed it on us, that we were always asking him to go out and run errands, and that we never got anything for him in return and he walked out on us. My mother’s drinking became worse so I moved. Last week we got a letter saying she’d tried to kill herself, and I- if that happens to us-’

‘Shhhh,’ Bucky soothed, pulling him closer. He let him soak his shirt with tears. He let him cry until he didn’t have it in him to carry on. He understood that there was nothing else to be done.

And then he kissed the skin under his ear. He kissed down his neck, and back up again. He held onto him because he knew Steve wouldn’t want to make eye contact. He held onto him because he wanted Steve to feel loved.

‘That’s not going to be us. I’m not going to leave you, not ever. I’m always going to be here for you, whether you like it or not, because I’m annoying and needy and selfish.’

Steve mumbled something that didn’t make any sense in agreement.

‘And if you ever leave me, and I hope you don’t, but if you do, it would never come to… that. If we part, we part as friends. I would never do that to you, because- and I don’t say this very often- I love you, Steve Rogers. I love you too much to hurt you like that.’

X

Bucky raised his hand again and knocked three times.

x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting rid of these chapter titles. They're irritating as hell.
> 
> Apologies this took so long, it is pretty long by my standards, so forgiveness? Or not.
> 
> Anyways, here's your new, shiny chapter my pretties.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey! Look who posted another chapter
> 
> after more than an entire year since the last one
> 
> wow
> 
> I'm so sorry. I apologise. I promised I'd be back.

Steve really could have kissed him the moment Bucky stepped into the apartment. He’d wanted this for so long: just him, Bucky, and peace. Yes, this was the life he needed.

‘Hey.’

Steve hugged him, ‘hey.’

The American lifted the smaller two of Bucky’s bags through to their bedroom. Bucky knew they were going to share a bedroom. It was just one part of this he struggled with, but Steve was just so friendly and cheerful, so happy about the whole moving in thing, that he refused to seem too dragged down by the moment.

Lunch was soup- really good soup as well, apparently Steve was a formidable cook (this was excellent news as everyone hated Bucky’s cooking).

‘Are you sure you’re ready for this Buck?’

Yes. Yes I’m sure. I’m just not sure if I’m ready for that.

‘Yeah. Of course I am.’

‘You’re awful quiet.’

‘Not used to the silence. There’s always something going on in my house- my old house- like Clint and Peggy arguing, or Nat stomping around…’

They’d been together for ages.  They had practically been living in each other's pockets, never spending night apart save for holidays. It was purely because of this that Steve knew it was more than that- although it was true, the constant background noise in Bucky’s house was a bit like a weird comfort blanket.

‘Buck, if you’re not ready for sex, you can just say so.’

If Bucky was quiet before, he was silent now.

‘Yeah, I thought that might be it,’ continued Steve, digging back into his soup.

Minutes passed of Bucky staring at Steve, intensely uncomfortable, and Steve eating his soup, far too comfortable for Bucky’s liking. The Brit tried to figure out his next sentence.

‘I’m… I’m not not ready…’

Steve looked up. He wanted to hear this, because this was important. Bucky had to be comfortable living in this apartment. If he wasn’t, then why were they together?

‘Go on.’

‘I’m just… I’m scared, Steve,’ and then it all poured out; ‘We know nothing about this, and what if it goes wrong, or one of us gets hurt, or someone hears us and reports us and we’re arrested-’

‘Shut up.’ He obeyed.

‘None of that’s gonna happen. We’re careful-’

‘But when we got caught-’

‘No Bucky, we’re more careful than that now. Neither of us are gonna get hurt, okay? You’ve gotta trust me.’

Bucky thought for a moment, ‘I trust you. I do trust you.’

‘Then shut up and enjoy your lunch.’

X

Fortunately, Bucky grew to enjoy living with Steve. He started to like the quiet, the way you could hear the city but it was still far away easily replaced the noise of his home.

Bucky was curled up on the sofa, totally engrossed in some silly novel, having arrived home after a day in the boxing ring. It was the usual for a war book- all about the left flank, and the right flank. All seemingly pointless. Steve was tentatively sat on the end of the sofa with his sketch book, scratching away at the thick paper. It took him a while, but Bucky began to notice that Steve was glancing up at him every couple of stokes, squinting and observing the space in front of him.

‘What’re you drawing Stevie?’

His boyfriend chuckled a little, still totally focused on the sketch balanced on his knees, ‘I’m not telling.’

Bucky nearly rolled his eyes- as if that hadn't have been one hundred per cent sure that Steve was drawing him before, he was now. He read on for another chapter or two, subtly easing himself closer to Steve. He carefully wrapped his legs around the blond’s tiny body until he could just about see over his bony knees to see the picture: naturally Steve grabbed it and held it against his chest.

‘It’s not done yet!’

‘I don’t care.’

Steve huffed, and continued drawing with the sketch pad practically on top of his face. Bucky made a grab for it and Steve leant back away from him.  Bucky made another grab and Steve dipped to the side. He kept on trying to snatch the pad, but Steve could curve around him every single time.

‘If I was moving at full speed I could have the picture.’

‘If you could be patient for another five minutes you can have it anyway.

As it turned out, the sketch was good – really, really good. Impressive. Bucky mused with the idea of Steve becoming a famous artist, or perhaps drawing caricatures in the street. The proportions were dead on, almost photographic; everything from the way the brunet’s hands gripped his war book, to the way one sock was rolled over and the other was not was observed in the picture. Bucky could almost feel he colors oozing from it, despite it being a simple pencil sketch. It was scarily life like.

‘What do you think?’

Bucky smiled at Steve, ‘It’s incredible, it’s like looking in a mirror! Your usual sketches are good, but this is amazing!’ Which is when the thought hit him; ‘Just how many times have you drawn me?’

Steve choked. He coughed, averting his gaze, ‘Uhh, I don’t know. A couple, I guess?’

Which is when he looked up to realise Bucky was doing the unthinkable: flicking through his notepad. Steve flew across the sofa, but Bucky held him off with one arm, and continued flicking through with the other; ‘Damn Stevie, do you draw anything but me?’

Steve blushed furiously, backing off his attack for a second, ‘yes. I draw lots of things.’

Bucky kept studying the pages, Steve lying on top of him and desperately reaching for his note pad. ‘These are really good Steve…really, really good…’ He pored over the sketches studying every drawing, with Steve glued to him, little by little giving up on getting his notepad back. Eventually he collapsed on Bucky’s chest, curling up and waiting for the brunet to finish- and promptly fell asleep.

X

A year went by and little changed. Bucky and Steve shared their apartment; everyone in the building knew them and liked them. They were two best friends with badly paying jobs – it wasn’t unusual.

But stories kept on appearing in the papers – they had done for years, but they became more frequent. Stories about Europe, stories that became more and more troublesome. Sometimes Bucky would sit, frowning at the radio as the BBC reported worrying skirmishes, and sometimes Steve would skim the newspaper taking note of the changing political situation in the countries that were just next door – countries that seemed so far away when he’d lived in America.

September 1st of 1939 they woke up and tuned in to hear that German troops had invaded Poland. Two days later Neville Chamberlain’s voice came loud and clear over their wireless: "This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final Note stating that, unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.

“I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.”

X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, seriously now, I'm so sorry this took so long, I am going to finish this fic (I reckon about another 8 or 9 chapters, but I'll give a more precise answer sooner or later). I have a plot, so that's nice, and hopefully it won't take me such a horrendously long time to write chapter 10...
> 
> Seriously, I am so sorry. I am a mess. I will try harder.
> 
> Comments and Kudos appreciated, and the next chapter should be a bit more interesting.
> 
> Thank y'all for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance for typos and formatting. I'm having to write on my phone atm and it isn't easy. Sorry.

Bucky signed up as soon as he could. Steve couldn’t blame him – he’d have done the same if it wasn’t for his physical condition. The weeks leading up to his last day in the apartment were difficult for both of them. He promised Steve that he’d be okay every night before they went to sleep. It wasn’t all bad of course: there was a lot more sex than usual, as well as spontaneous make out sessions and they blew their savings on fancy meals out and nights at the dance hall. When they’d waved him goodbye Steve wouldn’t let himself cry. Bucky’s mum was in pieces as he walked away and he couldn’t add to the trouble. He came back to their house for a late lunch ,and Admittedly it took his mind off things.  
But a few hours later he was lying in their bed; alone. Sure there’d been nights when one if them was away for one reason or another, but this was different. Bucky’s absence hurt Steve. He tossed and turned all night, trying to get comfortable and trying to be warm. He was freezing without Bucky, even under the duvets and blankets piled on top of him, he just couldn’t get warm.  
He spent the winter trying to join the forces. It didn’t help that his asthma was choking him to death and he always had a different cold every week, but that just wouldn’t stop him. He tried to do exercises that would get him fitter and add a little muscle to his tiny frame, but it was all in vain. It was just Bucky that was keeping him fighting for his place in the army, but also the feeling of helplessness. Every time a letter from Bucky arrived he’d feel so insignificant. If he couldn’t defend the land he lived in and the rights he believed in, then obviously he was worthless. He never wrote any of this back to Bucky, he never mentioned anything about trying to sign up either.  
It was when everyone else joined up too that this got really bad. Everyone from their school days seemed to be flying off to Europe to join the fight and he was Stuck at home. One particularly bad day Steve went for a walk around town, just to try to free up his mind. It was sitting on a bench in the Piccadilly Gardens while staring at the trees and buildings around him and being void of any real emotion that the answer to all his troubles arrived. He didn’t think up the answer or have an epiphany, he was told it by the man who sat beside him.  
This man smiled pleasantly at him and was silent at first, but eventually turned to him and spoke: “ beautiful day, don’t you think?”  
Steve nodded politely, trying to place the thick accent.  
The man persisted with the conversation despite the non vocal answer from Steve, “My name is Dr. Abraham Erskine and I’m here looking for a young American man named Steve Rogers. Would that be you?”  
He answered with a curt ‘yes’ because he wasn’t about to lie to whoever this doctor was. He followed it up with the obvious question, “why’re you looking for me?”  
The doctor adjusted his spectacles and gave Steve and warm smile. “It’s a little tricky to explain, but essentially I’ve observed how you keep on trying to join the war effort. For someone with so many physical setbacks, you’re a very determined young man. I work very closely with a special part of the armed forces and I’d like to offer you a place in the army an unconditional one, that is.”  
Steve’s face lit up and the man handed him a folder from his satchel, which contained all the approved paperwork to begin his training. He looked trough it, searching for a sign that this wasn’t happening, but there wasn’t one. After a moment he glanced pensively back at the doctor. “Why do you want me in the army?”  
He laughed as he got to his feet and tilted his hat, “because I believe you’re made of the right stuff young man.” He walked away with a little wave and Steve wouldn’t see him again until he went to the barracks.  
But between that time and he present, there was work to be done. He arranged for someone to take care of the house, and he told his colleagues and boss the good news. He visited his in – laws and they made him a huge good by supper. He almost wrote to Bucky about it but decided to keep it a surprise – he wanted to see the look on his face when he was all trained up.  
When he did arrive at the barracks, he realised he hadn’t anticipated how difficult he’d find the training. The first thing they did was do a short run around the facility, and it took him twice as long to finish it as the others did. He couldn’t do push ups or lift weights, he couldn’t run fast or for very long, and his aim with a gun was appalling (that was when he had the stench to life it for long enough). If it wasn’t for his brilliantly tidy bunk and his sheer enthusiasm, then he reckoned they’d have thrown him out on day one. But a week went by, and then another, and despite the teasing from the other trainees and the aches and pains training left him with no one had so much mentioned that he leave the company.  
During a hand to hand combat practice, Steve sprained his wrist. It hurt a lot, and did not stop the merciless beating that followed the kick that did his wrist in. He kept fighting back – it was entirely futile, but he did not give up. What he didn’t know was that the doctor was watching him from the research building, still as enthralled by his determination as he had been the day he approved him for service. He turned to their overseer, a much sterner man than he was named Colonel Phillips, and nodded to him. “If you want you supersoldier then you’re going to have to let it be Rogers. He’s the only one who could handle the role.”  
The Colonel’s eyes scanned over the other men with a heavy hearted sigh, marvelling at the muscle they’d built which made Rogers all the more diminutive. But he needed this supersoldier that he’d been promised, and if Rogers was the only option. .. “well, I suppose it’ll be no great loss if your experiment goes horribly wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha soooo. It's been forever since I last wrote anything for this but thank Civil War for getting me motivated (although you might not thank it after you see how it influences the plot. ..). You may notice that stuff in the tags has changed. It's because my plot has gone out the window. You may love or hate what I do with this but eh whatever. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'm always thankful for comments and kudos. 
> 
> I'm sure I had something else to say here but I have forgotten. 
> 
> Oh yeah, even when you m not updating my stories I sometimes update my profile. Check there if it has literally been months since I wrote anything and you're getting worried. Or hit me up on tumblr at alabamahammerman if you want to take action.


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